A Heart Like Ashes

The rain didn’t fall. It pounded. Each drop was a tiny fist against the concrete. Angry. Cold. Loud enough to drown her thoughts, but not strong enough to wash away the weight she carried. Sabrina Cuevas pulled her coat tighter around her thin frame, her fingers stiff from the cold. The city had changed since she’d last walked its streets. Brighter lights. Taller buildings. But the darkness between them? That hadn’t changed. Some corners were still dead silent. Some alleyways still whispered names of those who disappeared without a trace. And Sabrina knew how that felt. She crossed the road, not bothering to wait for the light. A car horn blared, but she didn’t flinch. She’d survived worse than traffic. She was chasing something bigger than fear. Something that started with a name, ended with a scream, and haunted every second in between. Inside her coat pocket was a photograph—faded and bent at the edges. It showed a man. The eyes were scratched out. On the back was a single letter: “D.” No full name. No explanation. Just that. And a note: “He knows what happened to your sister.” Her hand gripped the picture tighter. They’d said her sister died in an accident. But bodies that die in accidents don’t come back missing a heart. --- Someone was watching her. She felt it. The weight of eyes. The kind of gaze that didn’t just look—it searched. She kept walking, pretending not to notice. But each step felt heavier, each breath slower. Behind her, half-hidden by fog and shadow, stood a man in a black coat. He wasn’t just following her. He was studying her. --- The building at the edge of town hadn’t changed. Broken windows. Rusted door. Faint scent of mold and old memories. Sabrina climbed through the open window, careful not to make noise. She had claimed this place months ago. A forgotten shell for a forgotten girl. Her feet touched the dusty floor, and she lit a single candle on the windowsill. The flame flickered. The room lit up, piece by piece. This was her secret place. Her wall of truth. Photos. Maps. Threads of red yarn connecting people and dates and lies. Newspaper articles. Autopsy reports. Missing persons lists. Her sister’s last photograph pinned in the center—smiling, eyes too bright for the world she was taken from. And next to it, the scratched-out face of D. Her chest tightened. “I’m close,” she whispered to herself. “Closer than ever.” She pulled out her notebook and flipped to the most recent page: He moves in shadows. Leaves no digital trace. Connected to Black Chapel Syndicate. Rumored to trade hearts—literal ones. A chill crawled down her spine. She had read urban legends. She didn’t believe most of them. But this... this had proof. She’d seen the scars. The missing hearts. The look in her father’s eyes when she asked questions he refused to answer. “You were supposed to protect her,” Sabrina muttered under her breath. --- Behind her, something creaked. She froze. Turned slowly. And there he was. A man stood in the doorway of the ruined building. Tall. Lean. Dressed in black from head to toe. A dark scarf half-covered his face, and a hood shadowed his eyes—but even in the dim candlelight, she felt the power in his silence. Her hand moved to the small knife strapped to her thigh. “Don’t,” the man said calmly. “You’ll only regret it.” His voice was deep. Smooth. Like silk dragged across broken glass. Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?” “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said, stepping closer. She backed away, heart hammering. “Answer me.” “Not yet.” His reply made her freeze. Not no. Not maybe. Not yet. “What do you want?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at the wall behind her—the chaos of strings and secrets. “You’ve been busy,” he said. “But you’re still missing pieces.” Sabrina’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know what I’m missing.” His eyes locked on hers. Gray. Sharp. Cold. “I know more than you think,” he replied. “Like the fact that your sister didn’t die in an accident. Or that the police chief who closed her case disappeared two weeks later. Or that your father—” he paused, smirking under the scarf, “—used to work for the same people who killed her.” Sabrina’s skin turned ice cold. She stepped back. “No. You're lying.” “Am I?” he said, voice quiet now. “Then why was your father at Black Chapel’s warehouse the night your sister died?” She said nothing. She couldn’t. How did he know that? That part was in her notes. Hidden. Coded. “You’re one of them,” she said bitterly. “You work for them.” He chuckled—but there was no joy in it. Only something darker. “I work for no one.” “Then who are you?” He stepped into the candlelight, lowering his scarf slowly. A scar ran down the right side of his face—thin, surgical. His expression unreadable. Controlled. He looked at her like he’d known her all her life. “I’m the man you’ve been chasing,” he said. “And the only one who can help you survive what’s coming.” Her fingers itched toward her knife again. “And why would I trust you?” “You don’t have to,” he said. “Just don’t get in my way.” With that, he turned and walked back through the broken door—into the storm. Sabrina stood frozen. Heart racing. Mind spinning. She didn’t even get his name. But somehow… she knew this wasn’t their first meeting. She’d seen those gray eyes before. In a dream. In a nightmare. Or maybe… in a memory that wasn’t hers to begin with. --- Outside, the man in black pulled out a small phone. One message blinked across the screen. Phase One complete. Keep your distance. Do not form attachment. She is only a pawn. He stared at the message. Deleted it. Then whispered to himself, “She’s not just a pawn. Not anymore.” Because the truth was—he wasn’t here to watch Sabrina Cuevas. He was here to protect her. Even if it meant killing the people he once called family. His name was Isaac Hale. And if this was a game of war— —he had already chosen his side.